Lindsey Kelk 6-Book ‘I Heart...’ Collection. Lindsey Kelk
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expecting guests.’ He stared at me, then passed the clipboard to a lesser, slightly smaller door-boy behind him.
‘Please do,’ Daphne smiled, as sweet as sugar. I felt myself starting to sway a little, from the martinis, the beat I felt through the floor and the implausible height of the heels Jenny had made me trade with her in the cab. Apparently she was quite hot enough in flats but I needed the help. And about twenty coats of mascara and enough eyeliner to embarrass a raccoon. Before the bouncer could leave his post, a familiar face appeared at the door.
‘Angela!’ James yelled over the music that was pulsing inside. ‘What happened to your early night?’
‘Hello!’ I squeaked, pushing past the doorman (ha!) and letting James pull me into a very short hug before I squirmed free, scanning the place for the bathrooms. The relief was immense, we were in and I was moments away from being able to pee.
‘James, this is Daphne and you remember my friend, Jenny? Back in a minute.’ I waved behind me before pelting off down a narrow hallway to join a short queue of girls. As far as I could tell, girls only queued for two things in the US, sample sales and the bathroom, so unless someone was hawking Jimmy Choos in the back, this was where the toilets were.
For a fancy club, the toilets were not classy, I thought as I slammed the stiff door of the shabby cubicle closed behind me, but the bar was painfully hip. From the pretty butterfly wallpaper to the red-fringed lampshades, Bar Marmont reeked of understated glamour. And the crowds milling around the bar were hardly letting the side down. I wondered if we’d accidentally wandered into the auditions for America’s Next Top Model. If America’s Next Top Model started accepting male models. And not-so-model males with black Amex cards. But above all, it felt safe. And I didn’t just mean the bolt on the toilet door. The bar felt comfortably exclusive.
Maybe James was right; maybe the Chateau and its shabby chic bar were safe. Safe enough for me to drink myself into not thinking about Alex for a couple of hours at least. Except there he was, in the corner of my mind, smiling, brushing my hair out of my eyes while his fell across his cheek. I could smell his deodorant, his sweaty post-gig T-shirt, and I could hear his soft lullabies in my ear over the buzzing bass of the bar. Maybe I should just send a text. Just to remind him I was still here. My oversized clutch seemed like the Tardis. Where was my phone? I washed my hands then leaned against the wall, frantically searching through my bag and spilling lip gloss after lip gloss on to the floor as the cubicle started to spin slightly. Who needed so many lip glosses? Was I even wearing lip gloss? Ah-ha, there was my phone, hiding under the reams of toilet roll I’d stuck in my bag in case there wasn’t any left later. Before I could second-guess myself, I tapped out a quick message.
‘I know you’re angry but it’s all bollocks. Miss you. A x’
I stared at the screen as the send icon blinked a couple of times. Sending. Sending. Sent. Another couple of seconds to see if he was going to text back. And a couple more.
‘Come on, I’m dying out here,’ a not very ladylike voice yelled from outside. The lock on the toilet door wouldn’t hold up to more than one good kick, and if she felt anything like I had two minutes ago, she would do that in about thirteen seconds. I tossed the phone back into the bottom of my bag. There was only one thing for it. More drinks. It was going to take a couple more mojitos to get me into a dancing mood now, but I was quite committed to making sure that happened.
I shuffled back through the bar without getting so much as a second glance from the gorgeous people all around me. Which was oddly nice. Jenny and Daphne had already set up shop with James, Blake and a small crowd of hangers-on, but even they didn’t turn to wave as I walked over. I was invisible. I had thought that the only way to become anonymous in LA would be to adopt the uniform—blonde hair, big boobs and a super-tanned, size zero stick figure—but apparently I could just hang out in a very cool bar full of beautiful, beautiful women and then no one would even bat an eyelid. Might still be worth getting the boob job, though.
No one in the entire place even batted a heavily made-up eyelid as I sat down, except for James who immediately pushed Blake up from the seat next to him to make room for me. Either he really wanted to sit next to me or he thought my arse was too big to fit in the tiny space between him and Jenny. He would have been right, of course. I squeezed in and raised my hand to everyone around the table. Jenny gave me a blinding smile over the rim of her martini glass and Daphne winked over the shoulder of a tall, skinny guy with the most impressive afro I had ever seen. And glowering in the corner was my old friend Blake, offering me his welcoming grimace.
‘Good evening, madam.’ James sported his usual uniform of indecently tight jeans, fitted black shirt and matinee idol eyes. ‘Jenny tells me she lured you out against your will.’
‘Hmm.’ I eyed Jenny to my left. She raised her glass in return, before turning back to the beautiful Joe-a-like sitting opposite her. ‘There was some coercion involved.’
‘And some martinis?’
‘She mentioned that, did she?’
‘Well, I didn’t know what you wanted to drink.’ James passed me a very full martini glass. ‘And I don’t know what you like.’
‘Thanks,’ I smiled and sipped.
‘Apart from me, of course,’ he added.
I frowned and chugged.
‘So did you get hold of that boyfriend of yours or what?’ James asked, leaning in close so I could hear him over the music.
‘Nope.’ I finished my drink, and carefully placed the empty glass on the table in front of us. ‘But it’s fine.’
‘If he’s still being a knob about the photos, I could call him,’ James offered. ‘Although I’m guessing I’m the last person he’d want to speak to.’
‘If I thought he’d answer the phone, I would love you to call him.’ I closed my eyes and found James’s arm draped casually across my back instead of the wooden frame of the booth. A hot hand curled around my shoulder in a half-hug.
‘Well, if I’m honest, I’m not sure anything I have to say to him would make him feel better,’ James said into my hair. ‘I’m really glad you came here tonight.’
I turned too quickly to look at James but his face was altogether too close and I bumped my nose against his. He brushed his lips over mine, almost too gently to even feel.
‘Don’t,’ I coloured up. ‘I mean, I’m sorry, but no.’
James gave me a half-smile and pushed up off the booth, striding down the bar. The beautiful people instinctively cleared a path and stared after him. It was funny how they recognized one of their own.
Watching his denim-clad backside vanish in the crowd as they melded back together, I desperately tried to clear my mind. Daphne was knocking back shots of vodka straight from the bottle, and I wondered how she was going to manage her Rachel Bilson shoot tomorrow. And how Jenny was hoping to get all the different stains out of that leather dress. And just when was Blake going to actually get up out of his seat and kick the living crap out of me rather than just stare at me. Oh, about now.
‘What exactly do you think you’re doing?’ he demanded, throwing himself across the table and almost pushing Jenny out of her seat at the side of me.
‘Hi, Blake.’ I hoped that if I refused to argue, surely he’d give up eventually. ‘So sorry about this morning. James thought—’
‘That’s the problem, James doesn’t think,’ Blake said. He might have been quiet but he was clearly furious. ‘I think. That’s my job. He acts, I think, you ask questions and then you go home.’
Apparently he would argue regardless.
‘And while you might not care about your job, your boyfriend and all that other crap, it is also my job to ensure that James keeps the things that important to him.’ He paused. ‘Don’t make it my job to ensure that you lose the things that are important to you.’
Meep.